CHAPTER 4 THE BAD NEWS GEARS
Tim tugged on the pedal crank. It didn’t budge. He adjusted his thick, black frame glasses and let out a conclusive yet mysterious, “Huhm.”
Tim was the bike mechanic on duty at Sam’s Cycles, the fanciest bike shop I’d ever experienced. They had organic coffee, tea, and a couch. What kind of bike shop has a couch? Sam’s does.
Sam’s was serene and spacious, the ceilings were high and vaulted, the walls were wood and rustic, and the bikes were new and exotic. It was less of a spunky small-town bike shop run by a mom and pop than it was an upper end ski town cyclers community owned by a mother and father that considered it progressive to call them by their first names, Bodhi and Dharma. That was a hunch, but probably not far from the truth.
I felt bad about myself when I shook Tim’s hand because being in his presence made me feel there was no reason in the world to feel bad about myself, or anyone else for that matter. (Trust me, that made sense in my head at the time.)
Tim, as would be expected of an employee in a cycling experience emporium, was not fancy. His t-shirts always looked new because they usually were. Rock bands and charity event organizers gifted them to him as a thank you for helping at gigs and fundraisers.
When neurosurgeons, mid-level television stars, and CEOs walked into Sam’s they envied Tim at first sight. They were socially awkward and so was Tim. The difference was that they were self conscious and hyper aware of it, Tim wasn’t. He didn’t think about junk like that; he just liked bicycles.
Why does Tim work at a bike shop? “Because I like bicycles.” He’d say as though you asked him why he takes dookies.
He leaned in a bit closer to the bike and tugged on the chain. Pamela Lee was clamped to a bike stand. The sprocket wheel didn’t budge as Tim tugged. He stood up straight and contorted the left half of his face into a momentary mild grimace. He let out a slow, “Yeahhh…” It had a descending tone that foretold of bad news to come.
I looked from Tim to Matt. Matt glanced at me with a raised eyebrow.
Tim let out a sigh before saying, “The bad news is the hub is bad, must be defective.”
Matt and I waited for the good news.
“The other bad news is that you need to order a new hub and the wheel will need to be rebuilt to replace it.” Time said looking at each of us with an empathetic look on his face.
What? Where was the good news? You don’t go bad news, bad news. You switch to good news! Tim needed to work on his bedside manner.
Tim inhaled deeply (Good news never comes out of someone’s mouth after a deep inhale. Maybe this time would be different). Was he going to go bad news, bad news, bad news? The bad news trifecta?
…Yep.
He said, “The last bad news is that we can’t do that here…”
My mouth dropped open a bit. They can’t do it? But why? They’re the bike shop.
Matt smiled in disbelief. “Geezy, Tim! Don’t you have any good news?” He said
I looked to Tim with a face that plead for good news.
“I do.” Tim responded. He looked at both f us, gauging our reaction.
Matt and I looked like we had just watched Tim clip the correct wire on a time bomb.
“I know the shop you can go to” Tim said. “…But it’s across town.”
“…So, kind of good news.” I said half smiling.
Tim shrugged.
I looked at Matt, Matt looked at Tim and asked, “How far across town is this place.”
“Pretty far.” Tim said, then he moved into problem solving mode. “Look, I can give you guys a ride back to the ferry. We can throw the bike in the back of my truck. I’ll call the guys over there and you can take the bus tomorrow. You can leave your bike at the- what’d you say? The Teepee? You just gotta take the rear wheel with you when you go.”
Matt and I shared a surprised glance. Matt said, “Really? You don’t mind driving us?”
Tim Shrugged, “It’s on my way.”
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was made from an old bicycle wheel and read 1:02. I asked, “What time do you get off?”
“Oh, I can take you now. I can just leave when I want.” Tim said.
At that moment I hated Tim and I wanted more than anything to be him. That’s not true. I didn’t want to be him, I wanted what he had. He knew what he liked to do, he got paid to do it, and …He could leave anytime he wants! And he was yet another Good Samaritan within the first day of the ride (the airport and ride to the ferry didn’t count because they took us west instead of east toward our destination. If you don’t like this distinction you can write me a nasty letter. Although I’d prefer you write a nice letter, hopefully a letter complimenting either my writing or my hair.)
Matt and I had shared what some would call our judgment of Tim earlier. We would call it observations. We’d wondered if he knew Big Red from the airport. We would’ve bet that he did, but both of us thought it was likely, so no bet was necessary.
I couldn’t help myself, so I asked. “You wouldn’t know a guy who calls himself Big Red, would you?”
Tim didn’t know Big Red; we told him to keep a look out being that they seemed to be of a similar ilk. Tim nodded noncommittally at our suggestion. Then, he led us to the front desk where he called Seattle Super Cycles about our little problem. Tim referred to them as Seattle Super Cycles only once for our benefit. From there on out it was shortened to “S.S.E.”
S.S.E. told Tim that they’d be expecting us tomorrow. We went out to Tim’s Jeep Cherokee and put Pamela Lee on the bike rack (Of course, Tim drove a Cherokee. Jeep likely gave it to him and asked him to "please be seen in it"). I sat in the backseat. As we drove to the ferry, I stared out the window, and listened to Matt and Tim make small talk. I had yet to learn the recipe for small-talk, mine always came out half-baked or fell flat like a bad soufflé. They talked about traffic.
Tim told us that traffic in Seattle was bad and only getting worse. “…And more people show up every day.” Tim lamented. Traffic slowed suddenly, he downshifted the Cherokee. “I mean, I can’t blame ‘em. Seattle’s cool. …Just kinda sucks. No one likes traffic.”
I’d always thought of Seattle as a magnet for cool, artistic people. MTV’s depiction of the Seattle grunge scene had warped my mind. Seattle was a cool city, but it was also a real city with big city problems, not just a bunch of flannel clad, dour musicians in thrift stores. It had boring suburbs, ugly areas near the airport, and worsening traffic problems just like any other city experiencing a population explosion.
“It’s worse in the rain. “ Tim said.
“Does it rain as much as they say?” Matt asked.
“No.” Tim said flatly. “It’s kind of Seattle’s secret. I mean, yeah, it rains a lot, but it’s better than snow. And the summers are nice.”
“It’s been sunny since we got here.” I said, leaning forward, making an effort to join the conversation.
“Yeah, Chris, you guys are catching some of the best weather of the year.” Tim said, his eyes darting back at me from the rearview mirror.
And then there was silence. There was no more to add, the conversation stalled, and I just happened to have been the person that spoke next to last.
Yep.
Usually I’d feel responsible for killing the conversation, for not finding a way to spontaneously and naturally say something else, for drowning instead of catching that very next wave, but not this time. There was something about the way Tim responded, no need for noise when it was nothing more than pollution.
I leaned back and looked out the window. We’d already shared our story of the bike trip with Tim, the where, the how long, and the why. Tim was neither impressed nor fearful for us. “You guys’ll have a good time.” He’d said, flatly. For as likable as Tim was, his demeanor did not foretell of a future filled with pumping up stadium crowds. His energy generated a calm noise canceling hum.
It took us twenty minutes to reach the ferry dock. Tim said it was half that without traffic. We took the bike off the Cherokee’s rack, thanked Tim, asked if there was something we could do for him to repay him, he deflected our offer like Mr. Miyagi performing a “Paint brush down, Danielson” move, we wished one another well, Tim gave us a casual two finger half-salute and nod, we wheeled Pamela Lee toward the dock, our shoes clicking on the pavement,, and Tim drove back to nirvana, his energy canceling the noise.
That night, in the Teepee, Matt and I shared our thoughts on the day and Tim. “Yeah, seemed like the dude coulda been friends with anybody.” Matt said.
“And if not, it didn’t seem like it would phase him.” I said.
“I guess maybe that’s the secret to being Tim.”
“Yeah.” I agreed. A few moments of silence passed. I returned my tooth brush to the correct pannier, Matt sat on his bed and removed his sandals. “You think someone like that, like Tim, will be happy as he gets older. …Like it’s all good now, in your mid-twenties… But-“ I had to stop while I attempted to put my doubts into words.
Matt knew what I was getting at. “Yeah. I know what you mean.” He placed his shoes at the end of the bed. He said, “He seems content now.” He thought a bit longer. “I don’t know. I think maybe there’s some people that think I’m like that, just sailing along, but- Well, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” I said, sitting on my bed. “Who knows, maybe Tim sees a shrink once a week and gets his Lithium dose adjusted.”
Matt laughed. “Yeah, he was probably thinking, if only I could be normal like those guys.” Matt said this like a dumb, frustrated charicature of a person would say it.
I laughed as well. Another moment passed. “You think we’re gonna make it?”
“What, as a couple?” Matt smiled and laughed at his joke. We’d joked (and feared) that people would mistake us for a couple because of the tandem.
I smiled, but chose to stick to my question, “You know, all the way across.”
“I don’t know.” Matt said, then took on conspiratorial look, “But we’ll tell people we did either way.”
And then we did more of what we did every night of the trip, we laughed.
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I'm posting these drafts as I write them, it keeps me going. When I have a complete draft, I'll rewrite/edit it and get it published as a real book (not just the work in progress you get to see here.)
Keep going keep going keep going.
this is terrific, i love how you make a 10 minute awkward conversation into a little universe of the philosophy of personality. Made my lunch break into a small adventure. thanks.